


Only the Battlefield Can Keep Us Apart

by TheLastWhiteRose



Category: Chinese History RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Boys Kissing, M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, rawdogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: Chiang knows what it is. It’s mercy, a way out of this unfortunate predicament he’s dug himself. It’s a gift, and Chiang has never been one to deny gifts. So he nods, and he drifts off into an uncomfortable peace.
Relationships: Chiang Kai-Shek/Mao Zedong
Kudos: 5





	Only the Battlefield Can Keep Us Apart

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for 500 followers on twitter, and it’s a trainwreck.

The communist’s barracks are deafeningly silent. Chiang can hear every breath, every footfall that emanates from him, and he briefly wonders what will happen if the communists find him. Would they kill him? Would they beat him to a pulp and leave him out for the vultures? Or would they toss him to their Glorious Leader’s tent and let him finish him off? The thought simultaneously terrifies and invigorates him.

He is in there, the smallest tent of all, illuminated only by a candle. Chiang can barely see his silhouette, hunched over battle plans and stratagem. He stares, dark eyes dilated as he watches Mao run a hand through his hair in frustration, and Chiang feels his heart beat fiercely in his chest.

There’s a part of him that wants to run away, run to the small island off the coast of China, and live out the rest of his life in fear of the communists, but it slowly loses itself to the bigger part, the one that wants to lose himself in Mao’s arms just one last time. With this in mind, Chiang drags his leaden feet to the flap of the tent, and wrenches it open.

Mao is just as radiant as he was before, in all his war-burdened glory. His eyes are accentuated with dark circles, his hairline slowly creeping up, but Chiang can only see him as the vibrant college student campaigning for communism he once was, and it never fails to leave him breathless. When Mao turns to face him, leisurely, as if he were awaiting a lover (which, in a sense, he was), he doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see Chiang in the doorway.

“I’d have thought you had enough sense to escape,” says Mao, and his voice is quiet, husky, as if he hadn’t slept in several days. He fixes that breath-stealing gaze upon Chiang, and any trepidation he once held is gone in the onset of that gaze. 

“I wanted to see you one last time,” Chiang manages to stammer out, barely audible over the deafening sound of his hyperventilating breath. 

Mao nods, but he doesn’t look pleased. His expression is incorrigible, simultaneously amused and conflicted. He’s tired of winning, Chiang realizes. Winning the civil war, winning the heart of his people, and even now, winning the dignity of his sworn enemy.

Chiang turns to leave, blinking back bitter tears. “Well, I’ve seen you.”

He’s eight paces to the door before he’s stopped by Mao’s slender hand catching him. “Don’t go,” Mao whispers, and they’re so close, they’re breathing the same air.

“I never want to.”

They tangle within one another. Chiang presses himself into the hard lines of Mao’s body, trying to commit the feeling of skin on skin to memory. He presses himself firmer, trying to eliminate any space between their bodies. 

Mao’s mouth is hot against his neck, and Chiang realizes only belatedly that his shirt is off and strewn about, and his pants are in the process of being removed. He redoubles his effort to undress Mao, but he’s so disoriented that Mao laughs, batting his hand away and disrobing himself. 

He’s so hard and leaking against his own stomach that it should embarrass him, but a single finger working him open quickly shuts out any thought other than the persistent pounding of Mao Mao Mao.

It is only when his back is pressed against the floor does Chiang lock eyes with Mao. He wants him to ruin him for anybody else, to fuck him so raw that he can’t walk for weeks. He wants him to press into his body gently, to make love to him for hours. They conflict and contradict, and only the insistent press of Mao’s cock distracts him from the thought. He’s already lubed up from an open bottle of oil, and Chiang can barely nod his consent before he’s filled to the brim.

Mao gives him ample time to adjust. For as domineering and commanding a man he is, he has never been a selfish lover, and he continues to prove this as he drops a hand to Chiang’s cock, sweeping his thumb over the tip to collect precum before stroking him, pumping him. It serves as a pleasant distraction from the searing pain of the stretch, but soon enough, Chiang is clawing at Mao’s back for him to move.

The rhythm is set, a constant thrumming of in, out, in, out, so ecstatic and fulfilling that it’s all Chiang can do to stay sane but to claw down his back, egging him on with soft, breathy moans that do nothing but compel Mao to be faster, harder, until he catapults Chiang to orgasm. When he comes down, he is distinctly aware of Mao’s pulsating length still embedded deep within himself, holding ramrod stiff. He nods at Mao, a silent assurance that he wants this as well, and their carnal rhythm resumes.

When they’re done and sated, Chiang’s head perched on Mao’s chest, Chiang feels whole for the first time in a while. Mao’s fingers run through his hair gingerly, stopping at his jaw and lifts Chiang’s head up for a soft kiss. It feels like a goodbye, a parting gift from one leader to another. He savors it for as long as he can before breaking free.

“Leave,” Mao whispers into his ear. “Go as far as you can, far away from me and this wretched place. In the morning, I will send the guards to find you.” 

Chiang knows what it is. It’s mercy, a way out of this unfortunate predicament he’s dug himself. It’s a gift, and Chiang has never been one to deny gifts. So he nods, and he drifts off into an uncomfortable peace.

When Mao wakes up in the morning, Chiang is nowhere to be found. He calls in his daily briefing, and after, he orders his most trusted guards to find Chiang Kai Shek and execute him. Somehow, he knows they will fail, and that fills him with a sort of convoluted joy.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on twitter @potatoman245, and if you enjoyed this, kudos and comments are appreciated!


End file.
